


Drunken Pumpkin Pie

by Sorryimnotthatkindofdoctor



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, cheesy innuendo, drinking/liquor, dry-humping but nothing really smutty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-29
Updated: 2016-05-29
Packaged: 2018-07-10 21:48:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7009435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sorryimnotthatkindofdoctor/pseuds/Sorryimnotthatkindofdoctor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>To unwind and relax, you and Dean enjoy some of your family recipe for Pumpkin Pie – 190 proof pumpkin pie, that is.</p><p>Author’s Note: the idea for this came from this recipe, which I firmly intend to try this fall.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drunken Pumpkin Pie

**Author's Note:**

> Dean’s Flavor of the Month series: @balthazar’s-muse came up with this idea for a series of Dean x Reader one shots – Dean’s Flavor of the Month – based on a flavor of pie per month to coincide with the zodiac. So here’s my entry for Aquarius, which was Pumpkin Pie
> 
> Teaser:
> 
> “This is some of my Great Aunt Lorraine’s pumpkin pie,” you said. “I made a batch up before you guys left for that ghost in the construction site last Saturday.” Dean eyed the glass in his hand. The contents were the color of pumpkin pie, and he could smell the pumpkin.  
> “What’d you do, put it in a blender?” he asked.
> 
> “Just drink, Winchester,” you said, rolling your eyes. You brought your own glass to your lips and took a slow sip, sighing deeply. Dean watched you but didn’t drink.
> 
> “What’s this?” you asked. “Dean Winchester turning down pie?” 
> 
> “This is not pie,” he said, shifting underneath you.
> 
> “Trust me,” you said, taking another small sip. “This is better.”
> 
> “Now that’s just crazy talk,” Dean said, bringing the glass closer.

“Sam already head to bed?” you asked, walking up behind Dean’s chair. His head rested heavily on his folded arms atop one of the heavy tables in the library.

“Yeah,” came the mumbled reply. “Said something about sleeping for a week.” Dean moved to sit up and paused, his breath hissing out through clenched teeth as the muscles in his neck seized up. “Doesn’t sound like a bad plan.”

You let your fingers run across the back of his neck, moving your thumb in slow, firm circles. Dean sighed, dropping his head forward to his chest as you worked the muscles in his neck into submission.

“And the reason you’re not following his lead?” you asked, bringing your other hand up to join the first, broadening your massage out to include his shoulders, your fingers occasionally running up to tug at the hairs at the base of his skull.

“Too wired, I guess,” Dean said, his shoulders dropping further as you worked at the knots of stress. The boys had just gotten back from a hunt that hadn’t been particularly brutal, but it was the third “simple” salt and burn they’d been on in the last week alone.

“I may have something to help with that,” you said quietly, your hands settling on his shoulders. The soft cotton of his black shirt was warm under your touch. Dean chuckled.

“I just bet you do.” Dean scooted his chair back and reached up to grip your hands. He gently pulled until you came to stand beside him and then kept pulling until you were seated on his lap.

“You’ve got a one track mind, Winchester,” you said, smiling at him. He threaded his fingers through your hair as he leaned in to kiss at your jaw.

“Damn straight,” he said, smiling against your skin as you tilted your head to the side. After a few moments of quiet breaths and near silent gasps, his teeth ghosting over your neck and the base of your ear, you leaned back away from him.

“As lovely as this is, it’s not quite what I had in mind.”

“Oh don’t worry,” Dean said, licking his lips and smiling as your eyes immediately darkened when you tracked the movement of his tongue. “This is just the preview.” He leaned back in to capture your lips.

“What I meant,” you said after another several minutes were lost to slow, drugging kisses, “is that I got something for you.”

“Is it pink and lacy and hopefully in your size, not mine?” Dean asked, winking at you.

“One track mind.” You pushed yourself off his lap and gave him a quick kiss before pointing a finger into his chest. “Wait here.”

“Yes ma’am,” Dean said, stretching out his legs and letting his knees fall open so that he slouched comfortably in the chair. You knew he heard the small hum of approval that came from your throat when he smiled and spread his legs wider, hands falling to frame the slight bulge at his groin. “Now who’s got the one track mind?” he asked.

“Shut up, jerk.” You smacked his shoulder and quickly turned, heading out of the room. A few minutes passed before you came back in, a mason jar, a can of whipped cream, and two glass tumblers. You started shaking the mason jar vigorously as Dean picked up the whipped cream.

“You have my attention,” he said, raising an eyebrow and sitting up straighter. You snorted and took the can back, setting it down.

“In a minute. Here,” you said, handing him the mason jar, “put those muscles to work, big boy, and open that up.” You watched the muscles in Dean’s forearms clench as he gripped the lid, giving a slight grunt as he forced the metal lid to turn.

“My hero,” you said, curtsying slightly as you took it from him and finished removing the lid.

“That smells like…” Dean started, wiping his hands on his jeans.

“Pumpkin pie,” you finished for him, pouring a healthy dose of the thick, burnt-orange liquid into each tumbler.

“There’s pie?” he asked, perking up even further. You snorted.

“One track mind…”

“Technically, that’d be two tracks,” Dean said, leaning back in the chair as you picked up both glasses and turned to face him. You handed him one glass before carefully straddling his hips and settling into his lap.

“This is some of my Great Aunt Lorraine’s pumpkin pie,” you said. “I made a batch up before you guys left for that ghost in the construction site last Saturday.” Dean eyed the glass in his hand. The contents were the color of pumpkin pie, and he could smell the pumpkin.

“What’d you do, put it in a blender?” he asked.

“Just drink, Winchester,” you said, rolling your eyes. You brought your own glass to your lips and took a slow sip, sighing deeply. Dean watched you but didn’t drink.

“What’s this?” you asked. “Dean Winchester turning down pie?”

“This is not pie,” he said, shifting underneath you.

“Trust me,” you said, taking another small sip. “This is better.”

“Now that’s just crazy talk,” Dean said, bringing the glass closer. He sniffed at it and his eyes narrowed as he detected the smell of alcohol under the pumpkin. You grinned at him as he slowly brought the glass to his lips and tilted it up. The taste of pumpkin pie rolled over his tongue, followed quickly by the slight sear of alcohol. He coughed at little at the burn.

“What the hell is in that?” he asked, going back in for another sip. You laughed.

“Pumpkin, brown sugar, apple cider, cinnamon,” you listed off the ingredients. “And moonshine.” At his raised eyebrows you added, “190 proof everclear.”

“I think I would’ve liked your Great Aunt Lorraine,” he said, taking a larger sip. The drink was thick and heavy, but not syrupy and the burn of the alcohol lessened with more of the pumpkin taste.

“She definitely made the holidays fun,” you agreed. You settled yourself more firmly on Dean’s lap and the two of you slowly made your way through a glass each. Dean rested his free hand on your hip, thumb pressed to the indentation of your hipbone. The alcohol eased the last of the tension from Dean’s frame and the lines around his eyes softened.

“That’s good,” he said, licking his lips as he emptied his glass.

“Better than regular pie?” you smiled, reaching behind you to set your glass on the table and pick up the mason jar.

“That’s asking a lot of a drink,” Dean joked as you poured more into his glass. You set the jar down and picked up the whipped cream, shaking it quickly. “Though this one might just do it,” he added, winking.

“I know how you like your pie,” you said, popping the cap off the bottle with a flick of your thumb.

“I like whipped cream on a lot of things,” Dean smirked, the hand on your waist tightening as he rolled his hips up into yours. You gripped his body with your hips, adding to the friction you both enjoyed.

“Easy there, sparky.” You sprayed a dollop of cream on your fingertip and then scraped it off on the rim of the glass. “Try that on for size,” you said, licking the remaining cream off your finger. Dean watched you, his eyes darkening as he lifted the glass to his lips. His tongue flicked out, scooping up the cream just before he swallowed more of the liquor. His hum of approval vibrated in his chest.

“Pretty sweet, huh?” You took the glass from him and licked the rest of the cream off it before taking a drink yourself. “When my mom would make it, she’d make a batch with whipped cream flavored vodka, but I always liked Aunt Lorraine’s way of doing it better.” Dean took the whipped cream from you and sprayed a quick line of it at the base of your neck, just above the collar of your shirt. You laughed as he leaned in to lap the cream up before taking a drink.

“I think it’s better this way,” he said, raising an eyebrow as he shook the whipped cream. You leaned back away from him, watching as his grip on the glass tightened when you easily pulled your shirt up and over your head. Dean sprayed a line up from the top of your cleavage and you squirmed in his lap as he lapped the cream off your skin, the scruff of his chin scraping over the top of your breasts before he pulled off to take another drink.  

“Drunken pumpkin pie body shots?” you laughed as he placed a dollop of cream just above the satin trim on your bra. “I guess there’s a first time for everything.” Dean licked the cream away and took a drink. You leaned in quickly and ran your tongue across the seam of his lips, tasting the cream and pumpkin.

There was one drink left – you grabbed the whipped cream and then held his hand in yours. You sprayed a line down his middle finger, before laying the can down across your laps, your knuckles grazing the growing hardness of Dean’s groin. He grunted as you brought his cream-covered finger to your mouth and sucked it in all the way down to where it joined his hand. The green of Dean’s eyes rapidly disappeared into the blown-black of his pupils as you pressed his finger to the roof of your mouth with your tongue and sucked at it.

“Shit, Y/N,” Dean groaned as you pulled off his finger and took the glass, drinking down the last of the moonshine. Dean took the glass from you and put it and the whipped cream can behind you on the table before dropping his hands to your waist and holding you tight as he began to slowly roll his hips up into you again.

“Dean,” you moaned, draping your arms over his shoulders to grip tightly to the back of the chair and hold yourself tightly to him. The two of you traded slow, easy kisses, Dean’s hands gradually spreading out to the skin of your back. There was the burn of something slightly more urgent as Dean continued to thrust up against you, his body obviously hard and wanting, but neither of your felt compelled to really chase after it.

“Damn, you feel good,” Dean said against your lips, pulling back to rest his forehead against yours. You hummed and scooted closer in his lap.

“You know what’d feel even better?” you asked and Dean chuckled.

“I got some ideas,” he said, pulling back to leer at you.

“One. Track. Mind.”

“You love it, and you know it,” Dean said. You slowly climbed off his lap, picking up the mason jar as you started to walk away.

“Grab the whipped cream, Winchester.” You heard his steps behind you. “We’ve got some pie to finish.”

END


End file.
